


No Longer An Asset

by TheAsylumsAbyss



Category: Person Of Interest - Fandom
Genre: Irrelevant Gift Exchange Fic, M/M, Rusco fic because why the fuck not?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:46:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsylumsAbyss/pseuds/TheAsylumsAbyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How come you’re the only one who gets to fuck with me?”<br/>Reese lowers himself so that his hot breath is tickling Fusco’s ear, and it causes Fusco to involuntarily flinch while knowing he can’t get far. “Because, Lionel, I’m the only one who knows how to do it right.”</p><p>Fusco goes through a breakup - luckily Reese is there to help him forget all about his ex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Longer An Asset

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, you guys!  
> This is the first Rusco fic I've ever written, so please bare with me here. I wrote it for the Irrelevant Gift Exchange on Tumblr. I'm not exactly experienced in writing any form of lemon scenes, but I tried since the request was either smutty or fluffy and I can't write fluff fics to save my life. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Edit: Minooorrrr note. I didn't use Rhonda here because A) I started this before that episode aired and B) I kind of like her character so I didn't want to edit her into such a role.

Lionel Fusco felt like his heart had been torn out and stomped on repeatedly. He was deeply repressing the urge to cry in favour of anger as he felt it seething to the top of him. As if it were a kettle steaming up to the point of boiling over. In fact, the only thing he could do to not break anything in the house was to sit on the couch and play with the frayed fabric over and over again, trying to forget the night’s events.  
He should have expected it, in all honesty. He wasn’t exactly the most attractive or most interesting man out there, but when he met Rachel, he thought that everything would change. That maybe someone would actually stick around after his less-than-pleasant divorce.  
She was average height, but curvy. There was a quality about her that reminded him of a certain pin-up girl nostalgia that immediately caught his attention. She had blond hair that naturally curled and directly hit her shoulders in beautiful locks. And her eyes - oh god, her eyes - they were a beautiful blue, the kind you’d see enhanced in photography. There was a stunning quality about Rachel and it wasn’t just in her beauty - she was a kind soul.  
Well, she was kind. They had been dating for about a month when it happened, he had only taken her out on two dates. One of his friends had hooked him up with her, claiming that he was a nice guy and that he would treat her right. Either way, it landed him a first date in a café with her.  
It seemed like they really hit it off. She was interested in him, and he was more than interested in her, but either way it worked out well enough that they had wanted to see each other immediately after the date had concluded. Unfortunately, Rachel’s busy schedule of being a journalist and his schedule of having three different jobs (bad cop, good cop, and Reese’s bitch) made coinciding times difficult.  
You know, for once after the divorce, he finally felt like someone could give a damn about him. He never regretted being married - not after his son was born, at least - but to say he felt rather unlovable after the court proceedings was an understatement.  
But Rachel didn’t see that. In fact, she had grown rather fond of him over time. They were texting, calling, and keeping in communication between the dates. That’s what hurt the most - the fact that she at least seemed to care for him. He took her out bowling on the next date, knowing he was already getting too attached, but assuming she would be long term - that she wouldn’t stray.  
Then, somewhere between that second date and now something had changed. She began distancing herself, setting up the boundaries for what he secretly knew was going to be a bad break-up. It’s not like he didn’t try though - he still called, he still texted, and he still hung on even when he felt her grip loosening.  
When she asked him out for coffee, he had a revelation that this would be the end of it.  
It didn’t stop him from going, though.  
It was a cock and bull story, the kind you hear all the time in those stupid teenage drama shows. She had reconnected with her Ex recently and decided she wanted to try things out again with him. Yeah, there were apologies - there always were. However, there were none of them that Fusco could honestly take to heart. He had always been second choice, so this wasn‘t very new. This time it just hurt more because he had allowed her the right to hurt him through caring.  
So yeah; that was that. Still stung like a bitch that he let it get that far. A part of him wanted to blame her for every emotion he was feeling, and another part just wanted to punch himself in the face for being so stupid as to assume that he would ever be more than the B-Team.  
Lionel runs a hand over his fact in an exasperated manner. His son isn’t there tonight, which was a blessing and a curse at the same time. Although he would have appreciated the distraction, there was no way in hell he’d want Lee to see him like this anyways - he didn‘t like to be seen as weak, especially in front of his son.  
He starts to relax if not just a bit and eases himself in on the couch; the anger was now slowly transferring into melancholy, frustration, guilt, and shame. A cocktail of emotions that was deadly when fused together. What could he have done to prevent this? Well, the logical answer was nothing, but Lionel’s shamed mind kept on running through different scenarios where him and Rachel would still be a couple if he hadn’t made that one wrong move.  
Oh, what was he saying? In his mind, they were all wrong moves. Caring, talking to her, and finally connecting were the three mistakes he vowed never to make again. Mainly because he didn’t think he could handle this ache once more. He had tried, he had attempted, and he never achieved. That had to be good enough for him.  
At this point he is so neck-deep in his own guilt he doesn’t even hear the sound of his door’s lock being picked. Hell, he doesn’t even notice the intruder’s soft yet present steps as they casually slide in his apartment. It isn’t until he feels hot breath at his ear that he noticed something was up.  
“Hello, Lionel,” his words are deceptively amusing, and there’s a cold sense of humour in Reese’s voice that immediately causes Lionel to flip back a hand and push him off in irritation and numbed surprise.  
“Yeah, yeah, hello to you too.” Lionel says in a snappish tone while catching his breath, not really caring if he has pissed Reese off or even annoyed him.  
Reese gives an amused grin before walking over to the other side of the couch, seemingly enjoying the man’s aggravation. “Why, Lionel, I thought you would be over-delighted to see me.”  
“Bite me,” is the first only viable response that pops up in Lionel’s head, so he uses it and can’t help but feel the anger that he just repressed bubble back.  
At this point, Reese is sitting down on the couch, leaning in just so he can piss Lionel off further. “That’s not very nice, Lionel.” He reprimands, and it takes all of Fusco’s willpower not to punch him in the face because he knows he won’t win any fight against the man in a suit. “Honestly, you should be a bit more thankful. I did save your life you know.”  
Lionel turns away from his personal annoyance, balling his fists so tight that he can see the knuckles popping out white on his skin. He wants to just shove Reese out of the room - out of his life for at least a few hours - but he also knows he’s powerless to do so.  
So here he is; stuck on the couch, praying that Reese becomes bored of him like a cat after playing with their favourite toy for a prolonged period of time.  
He can see Reese if he glances the other direction from the corner of his eye. He’s leaned closer, as if trying to push him into acting, responding, anything to make him cave into Reese’s agenda. He would do it if it made a difference, but deep down he knows that Reese wouldn’t leave even if he went on both knees and begged him.  
“Oh, so we’re playing that game?” Reese asks, when Fusco doesn’t answer, he can feel him shift closer. “The one where you pretend I don’t exist? You’ve tried that before, Lionel, and ignoring me never works.”  
He’s still amused, which is technically good and bad for Fusco. If Reese still finds him amusing, then he’ll stay. He hates this, but he knows it’s better than pissing him off. He knows what the man in a suit can do, and deep down he knows that an annoying stalker is better than a pissed off one, even if he’d rather piss him off to make him leave quicker.  
“So you actually bothered to track down where I live just piss me off tonight? You’ve got some problems, bud.” There’s the sarcasm in Lionel’s voice that has always been there, but the snappish quality has quadrupled from the regular amounts.  
The innocent tone in Reese’s voice continues on. “What makes you think I haven’t come here before?”  
Oh yes, the manipulative games of paranoia start once more. Of course Reese would have been here before - it’s in his nature to be a stalker - and of course Fusco wouldn’t know a damn thing about it. He doesn’t know specifically what Reese’s goal is, but if it’s somewhere in the ballpark of getting him admitted to an asylum for paranoia and general madness, then he’s got a good idea.  
“Yeah, yeah, friendly neighbourhood stalker, I’ve got all that down; now would you mind leaving?” Lionel lets out a frustrated grunt under his breath, hoping that maybe Reese has gotten the memo that he wants to be left alone.  
Oh, who is he kidding? Reese knows that Fusco doesn’t want him around, that doesn’t mean he’ll oblige.  
Not surprisingly, Reese adjusts himself into a more comfortable position on the couch so that his chin is literally resting on Fusco’s shoulder. The overly-casual tones return once more as he continues to speak. “I heard about you and Rachel.”  
That’s when it strikes a nerve. Not that he’d let Reese know that, so he jolts his shoulders up cranes his neck further away from Reese’s face. “I doubt you heard about it - you probably were standing around when I was with her.”  
Lionel hears a deep chuckle from behind him, the type that makes the air on his back stand up in anticipation. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice.” Yeah, because every guy is looking for a man in a suit when they’re being dumped. That’s exactly what Fusco was looking out for when Rachel told him that they would be ‘so much better as friends’ and all the generic spew that unavoidably comes after a break-up.  
“Shockingly, you’re not always on my mind.” Lionel responds, giving up on shifting any further from Reese because he’s already touching the other end of the couch while Reese has sprawled across like a disobedient alley cat.  
“Oh, Lionel,” Reese says, as if his name has become some term of endearment for the man, which only further annoys Fusco. “Always so touchy, why not relax every once in awhile?”  
The answer comes quickly as does the delivery. “Oh jeez, I don’t know. Maybe because I work as a cop, as a dirty cop, and for you; and your constant little check-ins on my life tend to fill up my schedule. For Christ’s sake, I was getting friend-zoned and you still had to watch me like I’m some flick. I don’t have privacy, and that’s thanks to you. Maybe that’s why I don’t loosen up.”  
The words come out so fast that he doesn’t even have the time to censor them, or even consider who he is talking to. Even it hits him like a bus and he freezes, wondering if went too far this time.  
He has to look - no, he needs to see Reese’s expression. If not to see how much time he has before he’s stowed away in a car for an undetermined amount of time. Shockingly, Reese doesn’t seem angry or even amused at Fusco’s little outburst. In fact, the expression on his face is one of pity. Like he empathizes with Fusco for once in their odd ‘relationship’, and Lionel doesn’t know whether he should feel comfort in this or be even more frightened that he didn’t call that reaction.  
There’s a pause as they hold eye contact for what seems to be minutes upon minutes. He feels like Reese is analyzing him, trying to solve a code that is far too easily cracked by the man in a suit. He wants to look away, but like a deer in the headlights, the staring persists until finally Reese speaks once more.  
“Come on,” he gets up, patting Fusco on the shoulder once before standing up and glancing down at him. “We’re going out.”  
Lionel’s confused expression only intensified. “It’s the middle of the night; I hope you’re not expecting the mall to be open.”  
Again, Reese chuckled, enjoying Lionel’s cynicism far too much. “Buildings don’t really have to be open to get into them for me, but that’s not the point. I was thinking somewhere a little more suited to your brooding.”  
When Lionel stubbornly doesn’t move from his seat, Reese sighs. “Lionel, you’re making it difficult for me to help you. Do I have to throw you in a car, hogtied, to get you to come with me?”  
He’s not sure if it’s the threat of being abducted or the fact that he thinks it’s a good idea, but eventually Lionel stands up and follows Reese out of his apartment, praying that this is a good idea.

-

Reese takes him to a pub. Not one of those fancy club-esque types of places that focus more on the raves and dance music, but an actual old school type establishment. The kind that has stools that look like they could fall off far too easily, and a cover band always playing songs you’ve heard from the golden age of rock n’ roll on stage.  
He orders a beer, mainly because he doesn’t care enough to be picky. He expects Reese to get some overly fancy drink - the kind that would make him mentally call him an asshole yet again - but when he orders water, he has to ask why.  
“I haven’t drank in months,” Reese says offhandedly, just before the bartender gets them their drinks. “Not when I’m on the job.”  
“Oh, so this is just work, isn’t it?” Lionel frowns, although he expected as much.  
“Not exactly, I’m just always on call.” Reese sips his water, avoiding Lionel’s glance as he stares at the band. “I don’t want to be sluggish if something happens.”  
“Ah,” is the only answer that Lionel manages to muster up. The awkward silence creeps in as both of them take to being really interested in the middle-aged nostalgic singer on stage who manages to pull off an above average rendition of some Beatles song. Either way it’s a distraction, and for that Lionel is thankful.  
When two or three songs pass, Reese breaks the silence once more. “So, she found someone else, huh?”  
At first Fusco thinks about answering, wondering what the repercussions are, then decides the hell with it and answers. “She found her ex.” He says before taking a swig of beer, probably drinking too much at once.  
Reese breaks into a slight smile, and Fusco isn’t quite sure if he’s amused or is just pausing to think about what he’s going to say next. “If it helps, her ex is also fresh out of jail for dealing and looks like he’ll be doing it again within the next couple of months.”  
Now this causes Fusco to look back at him. Not because he’s surprised that Reese would stalk him, just the fact that he’d go that far. “Must have been one hell of a slow day for you to look that up.” He musters out, sipping his beer as he assumes that they are going to fall back into awkward silence.  
“Not exactly, I’m just getting information on an asset.” Reese answers with a considerable amount of forced indifference.  
That’s when Fusco gets a bit agitated, if not offended. “You’ve called me a friend before, you know. So stop it with that ‘asset’ crap.” It’s not that being Reese’s friend is a standard in his book of goals to achieve, but being degraded to asset when Reese doesn’t need his immediate help makes him feel, well, sort of used.  
It’s then that Reese gives him a rather out of place glance. It’s not exactly judgmental, but definitely not passive. “Lionel, I never knew you placed so much value on what I call you. I’m touched.”  
At first, Lionel thinks he’s going to snap back. I mean, how could he not with Reese’s constant taunting? But once he sees that Reese’s expression isn’t at all teasing - in fact, one could call it flattered - his anger sobers to reluctant irritation.  
“Yeah, well…” Is the only answer that seems to suffice, and even then it’s in a pretty wishy-washy tone. He calls for another drink in the hopes that the conversation will become less tense after a couple of cold ones.  
As they enter another slow break in conversation, Reese stares at him in a manner he can’t help but find unsettling. It’s not his usual taunting jeer, or his recently less frequent threatening glares, it’s almost fondness; Sincere, lightly veiled, discreetly hidden fondness that Fusco can’t really understand.  
In a way, he absolutely hates it. It’s uncomfortable to have the man he once feared now looking at him with even half-care. Mainly because he can’t place when or why the change in their relationship went from blackmailer and victim to, well, this.  
It’s not stable, it’s questionable, and it’s frankly confusing.  
Thankfully for him, the questionable expression on Reese’s face fades as he can’t resist breaking into his stereotype asshole behaviour once he sees the second drink.  
“Trying to drink the night away, Lionel?” He says, and Fusco already knows that the awkward moment has past. They’re back on even playing ground now - tormenter and unfortunate victim. It’s not exactly fair, but it’s much more secure than the silence.  
“I’d be happy if it worked on just you.” Lionel says, but the bite in his voice seems a bit forced. As if he half doesn’t want to go into the stereotypical quarrels that him and Reese always seem to get into.  
A deep chuckle is heard from the man in a suit. “Lionel, I know you don’t mean it.” And the worst part is that Lionel knows that Reese is right. He doesn’t want Reese to leave. Because despite never-ending pain in the ass Reese is, anything is better than being alone at this point.  
He wishes they could get into generic conversation. The light-hearted topics like music and television seem so out of depths for them, and frankly Fusco doesn’t know any other conversations with Reese that don’t involve either of them risking their lives for a case or taking down HR.  
When Lionel doesn’t even register the remark, let alone form a proper response to it, things get quiet really quickly until Reese finally speaks. “She really did a number on you, Lionel.”  
Now that makes Lionel get back into the conversation. “What do you mean?” He questions, although he knows that he could probably deduce the answer well enough on his own.  
Reese doesn’t smirk this time. Instead, a small but sad smile appears on his face. “I know for a fact that the last person in the world you would normally want to hang out with would be the one who has blackmailed, harassed, and pretty much made your life a living hell all along. The fact that you ‘re at this bar with me says enough.”  
Lionel glares at his beer, trying to avoid contact with Reese because damn it, he knows that he’s right. Frankly he would rather handle the swift, arrogant comments than go through a psychoanalysis of why the hell he’s here. “In case you forgot, bud, I didn’t come here on my own accord; you threatened to throw me in the backseat and drive here in my best interest.”  
It’s a thinly veiled excuse to Reese’s flawless deduction that is thrown in the trash soon after. “I never had a time warranty on that deal, Lionel. You could have left ten minutes ago or you could have left a minute after we walked in the door. I wouldn’t have stopped you. The point is, you stayed and you’re still staying.”  
Now Lionel is just tired. Tired of the challenging conversation, and tired of the fact that Reese is so damn right. “Yeah, so what you’re saying is I could leave now and you wouldn’t stop me.” He’s already out of his seat, as if the action of threatening to depart is much better than the initial verbal threat.  
Within a second, the confident aura of the man in a suit appears once more, as if its brief departure was just a short joke. “I wouldn’t. But I know you won’t leave.”  
And that’s the point. He doesn’t want to leave, even if staying isn’t the best option. Along with the fact that he hates the idea of going back to that cold, empty apartment, Lionel doesn’t want to let go of his only chance to maybe find out more about Reese. At the end of the day this could be just as revealing him as it could be for Reese, and he isn’t going to let that chance slip away.  
So he stays, if not for the underline curiosity that is managing to kill him and still leave him wanting more.  
He doesn’t say he’s staying, but the way he slumps back into the barstool is just enough for Reese to bask in his own glory. The conversation starts to move from the crescendo of hot button topics that are likely to set one of them off, into less triggering ones. Such as work, which manages to be something they can at least discuss without Reese threatening him or Fusco threatening to leave again.  
It’s nice, it’s interesting, and it feels halfway safe to talk about. There’s nothing personal here - nothing for Reese to pry into that isn’t strictly casual - and frankly that gives him some form of comfort. This relationship - if that’s what you want to call it - works on a level that they can’t touch beyond the stiff, business-related conversations that only loosen up after a couple of beers. There’s too much build-up of prior emotions; the blackmail, the taunts, and the threats, for them to possibly get into any other topics without it becoming extremely awkward quickly.  
In fact, once he hears the bar say ‘last call’ he almost feels upset about the fact that their time is coming to a close. Since he’s pretty sure he’s had over the limit to be driving safely, Reese offers to take him home. Well, it wasn’t really an offer - more of a thinly veiled persuasive threat. But at this point, he’s pretty sure he’s gotten on Reese’s good side, so he doesn’t take much notice of it.  
He’s not full-on drunk, but he’s tipsy enough to relax in the front passenger’s seat once the car is started. He didn’t notice it before, but it really is a nice car. The kind with heated seating, a high quality stereo system, and the kind of new car smell that makes him know that this isn’t just some old hand-me-down piece of shit vehicle.  
“So when did you steal this?” He questions, feeling a bit bolder than usual around the man who has tormented him for months on end now.  
Reese puts on a face of mock shock, as if he is offended by the accusation. “Why, Lionel, why would you ever think that?”  
“Because this looks like one of those fancy rental cars you usually see the carjackers attempting to steal by the precinct.” Fusco explains, knowing from experience that if Reese wanted to steal car like this, it would be far too easy for him to pick the lock and speed off without another word.  
Reese shakes his head slightly, eyes still on the road. “Lionel, I don’t have to steal any of this stuff. Finch gets me what I need for a case, and sometimes - like today - it becomes in use once more.”  
Yeah, Fusco isn’t surprised that the professor-like dual nuisance has enough money to just give Reese whatever he needs for a job. Lionel may not know the details, but he knows for a fact that the suits those two wear are far more than he makes in a month at least.  
“Well share the wealth, why don’t you?” Fusco remarks offhandedly, resulting in Reese chuckling once more but not responding.  
He makes a sharp turn, which causes Fusco to cling on to the side of the car door. Slightly reminding him of the first time he met Reese - on that long, long drive. The roads were long, but bumpy. Mainly because Fusco didn’t really give a damn if Reese was uncomfortable, and also because the dirt roads heeded little-to-no grace period while driving on them.  
“Thinking about something, Lionel?” Reese asks, stopping suddenly at a set of lights that feels like they have come out of nowhere.  
It usually would be something that he’d bite his tongue on, but the alcohol seems to cloud his judgment just enough to answer honestly. “Yeah, yeah I am, actually. About Oyster Bay…”  
He let’s the topic drift off, as if he knows he’s said something stupid. Despite all the comments directed back to it, and it being the start of their dysfunctional, clearly unhealthy ‘relationship’, they have never actually discussed that life-changing trip for the both of them.  
He can see Reese tense up slightly, his knuckles flare up as he tenses his grip on the wheel. However, when he seems to have nothing else to add to the conversation, Fusco’s lack of ability to contain himself presses the discussion further. Mentally he composes the contrasts between the day they met, and tonight. “You know, I understand using me for work, but I still don’t get why you took me out tonight.”  
Reese is tapping his fingers on the wheel; an agitated tick that tells Fusco he’s going too far. “I’m just observing an asset to make sure he doesn’t screw up his job because of his personal business, Lionel.” He says as the unresolved distress that is bubbling under the surface of his statement. And for once, Fusco can reasonably deduce what the root cause of it is.  
The words slid out stupidly yet again. “Say what you want, John.”  
And it’s like the word of his own name causes Reese to direct the car down an abandoned alleyway, hit the brakes, and suddenly he is on top of Fusco with a hand aimed directly at Fusco’s jugular.  
“Say it again, Lionel,” John taunts, securing his grip while Fusco looks at him in wide-eyed shock. When Fusco has no clue what he’s going on about, Reese presses his hand against Fusco’s neck and whispers in a deadly, low voice. “Say my name again. Act like we’re ‘friends’ like you say we are.”  
The bad part is that he knows he could have prevented this situation from arising, but the worst part is that he almost feels normal with Reese threatening to kill him if he doesn’t obey once more.  
“J-John,” Fusco sputters out in between gasps for air. He half-expects Reese to press down harder on his throat, but the tension remains the same. Not lessening, but not intensifying either.  
He hears and feels the man’s weight shifting, but he keeps his eyes locked on Reese’s, because he knows that if Reese is going to hurt him, then he’s going to say something before he does it. He likes to play with Fusco far too much to just knock him out cold without any snide remarks.  
“I could kill you right now,” Reese’s eyes are intense on his own, making it intimidating to look into them, but Fusco knows that looking away would be even stupider than keeping contact. “Oyster Bay? I could do the dirty work, drop you off there, and have a coffee with Carter by noon with little to no questions. I’m good at what I do, Lionel, and don’t ever question that.”  
He could. Fusco knows damn well that Reese is good at disposing bodies. This is nothing new to him. This isn’t a full-on death threat because Fusco said his name; it’s him trying to reassure his dominance because he knows he got too close this time.  
“I’m not,” Fusco says, and when he reaches out for another gasp of air he feels the tension in his neck subsiding as Reese loosens his grip just enough for him to talk in complete sentences. “But would you?”  
After he says that, he’s just waiting for the hand back to choking position on his neck once more. However, Reese remains relatively calm. His fingers dance over Fusco’s neck like a threat he’ll never go through on and his palm remains lightly on the middle of his neck, almost in a comforting fashion if it weren’t for his abilities.  
Reese ignores the question and brings up one himself. “Have you learnt your lesson, Lionel?” There’s a cold amusement in his voice, willing to be a threat at any moment to his safety. “You’re an asset, and you shouldn’t be so easily hurt to the point where I‘m a viable option for a friend.”  
Fusco pauses before responding, as if to let his thought linger in limbo for a moment before speaking. “Is that what this is all about? Because I was hurt?”  
It’s like the realization hits Reese for the first time, and he almost has to recoil before answering. “It affects your performance,” he attempts to explain away the already blatant statement he let out in vain. “I can’t have an emotionally affected detective working for me.”  
“Yeah, because I’m not high strung because of you.” Fusco responds, and he lets Reese tighten his grip ever so slightly because he would rather have Reese snap now than go through this monotonous torture. “How come you’re the only one who gets to fuck with me?”  
Reese lowers himself so that his hot breath is tickling Fusco’s ear, and it causes Fusco to involuntarily flinch while knowing he can’t get far. “Because, Lionel, I’m the only one who knows how to do it right.”  
He moves his head back and starts to lightly stroke Fusco’s wrists with his free hand, rubbing his thumb directly under Fusco’s hand where his pulse is. “When someone else hurts you, you break down into this state. When I do it, you may be upset, but at least you’re productive.”  
Reese proceeds to tread his thumb to the middle of Fusco’s hand, massaging it in an almost torturing slow manner. “You know, you don’t always have to be so reluctant to everything I do.” He suddenly presses the thumb in a firm but not harmful way - just enough for Fusco to gasp slightly in indescribable pleasure. “It’s not a contest - you’re not going to win just by rejecting me.”  
At the end of the day, that’s what their relationship was; Fusco being pushed by Reese to do everything under the sun, but Fusco always having some little amount of dignity by being reluctant to whatever Reese says. Fusco knew that he actually didn’t really care if Reese ordered him to do half the stuff he did, but the sarcastic comments and the snappish comments had become a sort of defence mechanism; it kept Fusco’s dignity while still allowing Reese’s amusement.  
There was one thing that stood between them that he knew Reese wouldn’t do unless Fusco actually consented to it. And that one thing was coming to a rather dramatic climax.  
Reese lets his mouth hover over Fusco’s, letting his grip loosen ever so slightly. He wasn’t going to kiss him - not until Fusco did it first. It was a silent gesture that left the ball in Lionel’s court. He swears he can see Reese’s lips mouth out something - he can almost feel them graze against his own - but it’s still up to him to close the gap.  
A part of him wants to reject the advances and tell Reese to go fuck himself. A huge part of him wants to slap his face and jump out of the car, running off. However, there’s one part of him that feels inclined to seal the kiss. Is it love? No, but it’s certainly some fort of infatuation.  
Despite everything, there was still some form of appeal to Reese that Lionel just couldn’t place his finger on. Although he’d never admit it, Lionel knew he’d still be doing drives to Oyster Bay and never redeeming himself if Reese had never infiltrated his life. But that didn’t make this a debt that he had to fill - it just made him slightly more appealing.  
Not only that, but fuck it – he wanted someone to want him. And the way that Reese was literally all over him at the moment just made that sensation stronger. Even if he’d get hell for it for months on end, it was a worthwhile feeling that made him want to just give in and let it happen.  
Somewhere in between his internal debates and heartbreak, Lionel finally gave himself the opportunity to say ‘screw it’ to his indecisive conscious and press his lips into Reese, giving him the control.  
Immediately, Reese’s dominance takes over. The kiss transitions from chaste and even nervous to rough and passionate. He swears he can feel Reese’s teeth gnawing on his bottom lip as a hand cradles his face while pushing him lower into the seat. The intimidating appearance of Reese towering over him has become almost erotic as he feels their bodies collide even through the clothing.  
They break the kiss for a few seconds after what feels like minutes of vague touching and mouth movements if not just to catch their breaths. It’s not long before they go back at it, however, but now Reese is grabbing at various articles of clothing on Fusco’s body, attempting to pry them off.  
Reese eventually moves back and treads his pointer finger down Fusco’s throat and eventually at his tie, causing an uncontrollable shake of anxiousness to arise from the detective. They glance at each other for a moment; as if knowing there’s no way in hell they can go back now. A wicked grin arises on Reese’s lips as he tears off the tie and throws it to god-knows-where in the car, as if throwing any form of logic out the window in favour of a much more desirable sensation.  
From that point, it becomes unavoidable that the rest of their suits are shrugged off with little to no care. It soon becomes clear that the only thing Reese cares about is keeping his hands (and mouth) on Fusco, and the only thing Fusco wants to think about is having Reese on him.  
At some point in between the kissing and touching Fusco stops keeping score of what’s going on. When Reese finally does flip him over and the unavoidable begins to happen he allows his body to just give in. There’s no reluctance, just pleasure that runs through him as clothing is thrown in the backseat.  
Once the act actually begins to happen, John is much gentler about it than he was about the foreplay. He eases Lionel into it, and in some ways it just makes it worse because it gives Lionel time to think about what’s going on.  
However, those thoughts tend to fade away every time he feels Reese’s lips tread around his neck, as if consoling the raw parts he left earlier with his hand, or his hands move to the more intimate spots on his body.  
There’s something just so undeniably caring about the act that it feels more than just sex to Lionel. There’s a backbone to it - there’s something more than just physical contact from one human to another. As he feels his muscles begin to tighten, knowing that he’s on the rim, the thought disappears yet again. But once he moans out Reese’s name a couple of times and the afterglow starts to fade, he goes back to his original thought pattern.  
Of course, Reese eventually reaches his climax as well, and Fusco almost shudders when he hears the passion behind his groans. It’s hot, it’s sweaty, and it’s uncomfortable as hell in the car, but neither of them can bring it upon themselves to move any more than they have to. So they just lie there, in depressing silence while the sounds of cars passing in the distance are heard.  
Eventually Reese moves to the side, pulls in Fusco, and he can practically predict the smartass comment that follows.  
“Think about that next time someone fucks you over.” He says, but there’s some form of softness in the statement that makes Fusco less inclined to answer back.  
“Yeah,” Lionel mumbles, at a loss for words. “Yeah…I will.” He doesn’t have the emotional strength to say anything else or question Reese’s actions further, so once Reese embraces him and refuses to let go, he stays in his arms for as long as he can.


End file.
